


Errands of the Devil

by WaldosAkimbo



Series: Quick and Dirty Good Omens Crack or Drabbles [12]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Crowley's Plants (Good Omens), M/M, Sex Pollen, Tendrils, devilish plant, dub-con, dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: Aziraphale is alone in his shop when he receives a mysterious package. Inside, a devilish plant has some ideas about what it should do to Aziraphale. Courtesy of his favorite demon, Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/plant
Series: Quick and Dirty Good Omens Crack or Drabbles [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1789003
Comments: 7
Kudos: 87





	Errands of the Devil

**Author's Note:**

> I put the dub-con tag there because I mean technically Aziraphale doesn't know what the plant is, but can assure you he's enjoying himself quite thoroughly.
> 
> This isn't edited, this is just tossed out in an hour and then shoved up onto the internet, like you do!

Generally, Aziraphale takes shipments in the morning, a few parcels wrapped up with special care, tied with rough string and brown paper and itemized lists. They are routine and he is delighted to see them, so sure that this one is a copy of Ross Rocklynne’s “Time Wants a Skeleton” while that one was Berle and de Camp’s “Inventions and Their Management.” He was starting a new section of his collection recently, gently inching the walls of his establishment just a little more beyond their physical realm to house them. It was not to say it was inspired by certain young men who dreamed up Atlantis out of the water and spaceships out of the sky. It was not to say that specifically, out loud, at least.

So, of course, when a second larger package arrived at nearly 7 pm, while Aziraphale was bullying the encyclopedias back into their corner, he was a touch surprised. Not alarmed, mind you. It wasn’t _impossible_ for something to come this time, though it was enough of an anecdote that he’d tell Crowley about it next time they met, which was hopefully in the upcoming week.

Aziraphale stretched his face out into the cool night air, down the alley, curious to see who had delivered it. Some upstanding chap with the mail service, bless him. Which Aziraphale did even as he bent down and turned the box towards him, reading over the label, which had his name and address, but no return sender.

 _Odd_.

 _Ah well_ , he thought with a gentle shrug and tugged the box inside. It wasn’t heavy, per say, but it was cumbersome. When he banged it accidentally on the door jamb leading to his back office, the whole thing shook and he was sure he felt something roll up against his palm. He nearly dropped it!

“What have we here?” he asked curiously, sliding the box onto his sofa, as that remained the only place available big enough without knocking anything of value onto the floor. Yes, he’d meant to clean up back here, but, again, he was a little preoccupied. Still. He knocked on the top of the box and leaned over very close to ask it, “Hello?”

Nothing happened. No strange bulge along the side, no rattling. It could have been imagined, of course and Aziraphale straightened back up, smoothing his hands over the concave plane of his belly, the familiar and comforting worn velvet a pleasing sensation under his palms. He laced his fingers and held them, staring a while longer.

“I don’t think I ordered you,” he announced to the package, given that his orders were, again, quite detailed.

He was scrupulous about them, simply to keep his records in order and one does not mention that he may acquire his wares by unsavory means now and again, but they didn’t _arrive_ by post then! They came secreted away or exchanged in a quiet coffee shop or that one time he snagged it off a desk and ran off like his feet were on fire and that was only because said person he took it from was definitely an angel of Hell and definitely spoiled rotten in their very soul and didn’t deserve a first edition of Goethe’s _Die Leiden des jugen Werthers_. Also, the man had shot someone in front of Aziraphale at the time and, in the hullabaloo, he snatched the book because it seemed the most prudent solution. It had been a very interesting dinner party.

Needless to say, this wasn’t one of his.

He smoothed his hand over the cardboard, which was plain and unmarred. Sturdy, he discovered, when he gently knocked his knuckles against it, but unremarkable in every other sense. He hummed and went over to his desk, shuffling around papers until he found a novelty pen knife that looked very much like a little bronze sword and had to be plucked free of a sensible looking stone. But when he came back to open the box, he was surprised to see the lid sliced clean down the middle. Closed. Waiting.

Aziraphale frowned appropriately at that.

“Listen,” he said to the box and the general vicinity of the bookshop. “I rather think you should just come right out if you’re going to be playing games. I’m not afraid of you, you know.”

He wasn’t, actually. He rarely was of anything, really, in so much as the humans were concerned, but he had a funny softness to his voice that most people took for fear when it was more agitation or perhaps indignation. Indigestion, sometimes.

Then again, this _thing_ wasn’t behaving very human.

With a sigh and still very much gripping the pen knife, he went back over and began to turn the flaps open, only for the contents to startle him enough that when he raised his fist, there was a small holy fire rippling over the blade. It sputtered when he spotted a note tucked in over the top of the writhing mess inside.

> _Angel,_
> 
> _Know I’ve been out for a bit. Swear I’m almost over the hump of this flu. Yes, the soup helped. As thanks, tide you over with this? A little_ vagos diabolius _from the garden_. _Forgot I was growing it. Mind the flowers, it gets a little excited._
> 
> _Cheers,_
> 
> _-C_

Aziraphale may have cooed at the letter, the softest sound simply seeing that slanted “C” at the end, and his demon’s familiar handwriting. Trust Crowley to figure out how to contract the flu, but he’d managed it and the first three days had been a bit miserable. But, by the fourth, he confessed he just sort’ve wanted to sleep and Aziraphale felt guilty that he wanted to get back to arranging his books again, but Crowley promised him it was just alright. Be over it in a tiff and if anything changed, he’d call Aziraphale on his landline.

The thing inside the box stretched out towards the sound, a curious green tendril climbing up like the head of a snake towards Aziraphale. He looked over the top of the letter and hummed. He wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to do with this. He had that one peace lily by the windows, but that hardly meant he wanted to start a _garden_.

“Why on earth did you—”

A small bud came up the vine like the poor thing was about to throw up, jumping towards the end and bubbling up into a tight twisted bud. Aziraphale leaned in closer just as the bud flashed its petals and he saw a bloom of brilliant beautiful gold and red that seemed to _sneeze_ at him.

“Bless you!” Aziraphale said, startled into politeness, and wiped his nose quickly from the dusty spores that had painted him. “That was rude. That…oh?”

When he blinked, he noticed the box was a veritable bouquet of red flowers, all of them twitching inside in excitement, much like a dog might wag its tail. He frowned again and wiped his face, his lips, which were curiously soft and sloped open until his was sucking on his fingertip.

“Oh,” he said around the digit, feeling a bit flushed for some reason. “My,” was his next response when the tendrils pulled themselves out of the box. They might fall off the sofa, so, naturally, Aziraphale reached out to give them a hand and they slithered up his fingers. They were soft, nearly velvet, and the petals opened up against his hand with the grace of dainty kisses, which made him giggle of all things. “Yes, that’s alright, come on out.”

There seemed to be a sigh from somewhere. One could guess it was Aziraphale, as he relaxed back, letting the plant explore up his arm, tickling inside his sleeves. A larger branch decided to remain outside his cardigan, wriggling towards his stomach, and wormed around the space of the buttons of his waistcoat.

“Careful,” he said and gripped the tendril, which _pulsed_ happily under his grip. “You’ll stretch the fabric and we don’t want that.”

It seemed impossible that a plant should understand him, but the tendril stopped digging and decided to change course, going up his chest until it found his neck and planted more petal kisses there above the collar of his shirt.

Poor thing wanted something warm, that was it. Probably so cold in its box, alone in the dark! It was rushing and clinging and Aziraphale hummed again, giggled again when it rubbed along his throat and up his cheek.

“Yes, alright, just a moment,” he said, letting the big tendril slide effortlessly through his fingers until he let go of it completely. There was a better way to go about this. “Would this help?” he asked as the plant slithered further up his chest, making itself quite comfortable on his shoulder and was easily swayed to move out of the way so he could get at the buttons of his waistcoat, undoing them quickly and carefully.

His chest was warm and surprisingly a little damp. He didn’t remember sweating, but the heat of the place was unmistakable, so it didn’t seem that farfetched. While he was there, knocking aside a little branch, he loosened his bowtie and slipped it free of his collar, offering a little space there against his neck, which the plant soon occupied like a little animal racing in out of the cold.

“There you are,” he said softly, hugging the bulk of the plant once more on his chest. “Affectionate, aren’t you? It’s alright. I dare say you didn’t get much love from Crowley, did you?” The plant rubbed itself against him, more of those little soft tendrils sneaking into his shirt by way of the collar, and now the buttons down the front, since the vest was out of the way. He wondered if he should undo that, too. Save him the trouble of destroying any of his clothes. “You know, you’re quite a lot more animated than his other plants. I dare wonder how you managed to hide amongst his—”

There was another sigh, another bloom of beautiful gold in the air that smelled of wood smoke and cardamom. It was not unnoticed that this was how Crowley smelled and the familiarity sunk into Aziraphale, who idly moaned in want.

Vagos here seemed to like that. That sound purred right through the flower petals and the little nubs along the branches that were barely leaves. It began to weep a light, floral scent that started to soak Aziraphale’s button-down. He creased his eyebrows at that and began to frown again, even when some of the petals stretches up to kiss his chin.

“Will that leave a stain?” he asked softly, his voice breathy and distant. “I should…ring Crowley. And ask if he—”

He was answered with the clamor of his phone from the desk nearby, a clear chime that cut into the gentle fog that was settling over him. Aziraphale looked at it, stared at it, and wondered how hard it might be to reach it. All the way over there, that was preposterous. That was leagues away and they were just getting so comfortable!

“Do you think you’d mind?” Aziraphale asked, only for one of the tendrils to snake up to his mouth and tug at the corner. He turned and licked away the sap there, which made his tongue tingly and was so warm going down his throat that he thought he might spot molten spinning in his stomach. It should be unpleasant, really, but it only served to make him settle back deeper.

He closed his mouth over the little wandering thing against his mouth, sucking on it, and when he looked over, the phone had miraculously placed itself beside him. He picked up the receiver and held it to his ear with a “m _mmm_.”

 _Aziraphale?_ Crowley sounded groggy but coiled up in his ear and Aziraphale felt it rumble through his sternum. That, or the plant was finally under his shirt completely and was undulating against his chest. Bit of both, really.

“Mmm!”

_Are you alright? …Did my package arrive?_

Another moan in response, unfortunately. It was hard to pull away and stop sucking. It just tasted so _good_ and the way it explored over his tongue made him feel a bit light-headed.

 _Did it bloom?_ Crowley asked, his voice dropping a little. _Aziraphale? Two hums for yes, one for no._

Dragging his mental faculties up out of the settling dark, Aziraphale moaned twice before he pushed the tendril back out of his mouth and pulled off it at last.

“ _Crowley_ ,” he sighed towards the phone, gripping onto it hard enough he nearly cracked the plastic handle. “Oh, dear, it’s all over. Such, _unnnh_ , lovely red! Think it. Think it....”

Something curled up between his legs and started to rub against his erection, which was hot and hard trapped inside his trousers.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice flighty and weak. “I’m on the phone!”

_—many d’you see?_

“Mm? Beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked, struggling to hold onto the slippery wriggly mess of vines near his fly. It didn’t seem to be thrashing, it was just excitedly trying to get closer and continued to kiss his hands, hoping to appease. “Crowley. It’s trying to get under my clothes.”

_Is that alright?_

“Oh, it’s wonderful,” he sighed, his eyes fluttering shut a moment before he remembered his complain. “Will it stain my clothes?”

_Nah. We can wash ‘em. Was it…was it a full bloom? How many flowers?_

“All of them,” Aziraphale answered with a dreamy sigh. His grip slackened and the tendrils surged forward, worming under his waistband. “Oh, Crowley.”

 _Still here,_ he answered. He sounded tired but soft and comforting and like he might be curling up on his mattress with a pleased little demonic grin on his face. _Tell me what it’s like. I’ve never got it to bloom all the way for me._

“Wicked thing,” Aziraphale answered but it was with no complaint. He decided to help and simply undid the zipper himself, barely rocking his hips up as more tendrils rushed around him and shoved them down. They caught the waistband of his briefs with them and there was the worrying sound of tearing fabric before those disappeared towards his knees too. “They’re…they’re so _excited_.”

 _I bet_. _Not too rough?_

Aziraphale shook his head, buttoning his lips together as the big tendril across his chest slithered down and curled itself right up around his cock. It didn’t stroke so much as it just wriggled, undulating over his skin, squeezing around him just right.

 _Aziraphale_?

Right. This was a telephone call, not a video. He should do better to answer, but he was having a rather hard time concentrating on words, wasn’t he?

_Aziraphale. Put the phone down._

Trust Crowley to guess at what he needed, just like he had guessed at the loneliness in the shop, which was his own fault, really. It was comforting and all but it lacked the physical _companionship_ he and Crowley and become accustomed to recently. Either way, Crowley was clever and even if he was sick and Aziraphale should be worrying after him, this was such a delicious distracting. He dropped the phone onto the sofa and gripped along the back, his head dropping as he let out a long, low moan towards the ceiling.

Within seconds there was a bright electronic chirp and soon there were firm hands in his hair. The smoke wood and cardamom was stronger, palpable, as Crowley nosed at Aziraphale’s cheek.

“You didn’t even lock the shop, did you?” Crowley muttered against his temple, his voice a bit rough, a bit nasally, but such sweet music all the same. He touched Azirpahale’s throat when he moaned again, even louder, that the neighbors could hear. Truly he did _not_ care. “I’ll get it for you.”

It was a promise marked with a kiss and Crowley stepped around in his black silk pyjamas, snapping towards both the main entrance, the windows, and the back entrance, each of them sliding shut with his demonic miracles. Vagos, all the while, continued its slick explorations of Aziraphale’s body, flushed out across his arms, his chest, spreading his legs.

When Crowley returned, settling onto the sofa next to him, only a few made tentative pokes and prods, but seemed disinterested in the demon. A flower puffed near Crowley’s shin and wriggled at his ankle and was gently swatted back to Aziraphale. Crowley crossed his legs and rested his cheek against his shoulder, draping himself comfortably, still looking tired and a bit pale that the flush across his cheeks stood out like brands.

“You’re a mess,” he muttered affectionately and Aziraphale jutted his hips against the vine firmly on his cock. “You’re a wreck. Look at you. Positively debauched, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale whined before his mouth sloped open into a loose “o” when Vagos wriggled at his entrance and began to poke inside him. Those little nubs pulsed along the tendrils and he couldn’t keep his eyes from fluttering.

“Oh, you’re filthy, Aziraphale,” Crowley continued, petting his hair, which made Aziraphale whine louder in half-hearted protest, unable to articulate his rebuttals because _oh_ he had none. He burned with happy shame, a strange sensation that made him vibrate until Crowley pet his sweat-damp curls and kissed his cheek despite the tendrils that had snaked up there, too. “That’s alright. That’s alright. Why don’t you just come, hmm? I’m here.” Crowley rested his cheek on Aziraphale, not touching him beyond that. The hand in his hair. The cheek on his shoulder. The plant fucking into him and wriggling happily around him. “I’m here. Come for me.”

Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut and cried out properly as his hips shot forward and he splashed up on his chest, onto the plant, even onto the discarded box it had been carried in, a Trojan horse brought directly into his space!

The plant did not get the hint right away that, _thank you, that’s enough, please_ , that it was over. It washed quickly over the head of Aziraphale’s cock and continued wriggling deep inside him, pressing against his prostate enough that it made him splurt out twice more before those cries of pleasure started to melt over into something a little more pained. Not unhappy, but quite thoroughly _done_ , thank you.

Crowley lifted his cheek sleepily and started tugging a little on the leaves. He sparked a tiny fire on his fingertips, running it over the tendrils, which twisted back, writhing away from it. A little coaxing and it was soon dragged back into it’s box, snapping the lid shut so that dastardly demon couldn’t keep tormenting it with the little fire.

Aziraphale watched from the sofa, breathing hard, his button-down shirt indeed ripped and his pants and trousers stuck at his ankles. He was shiny with sweat, his own spend, and the shiny serum that had oozed out of the plant. Still tasted sweet on his tongue, still holding his mind in a happy buzzy space, but he was relieved to no longer feel the stimulation.

Crowley nudged the box under the table and trapped it with several books on top just to be safe before he came back to the sofa, touching Aziraphale’s face.

“You alright?” he asked and sniffled again from his illness. Aziraphale nodded, weakly turning into Crowley, who was feverishly warm but always a blessed comfort. “Alright,” Crowley said with a laugh and hugged him up. “Alright, I’m here. D’you need a bath or anything?”

Yes. Obviously yes. But not right now. Aziraphale wanted to just sit a while in the strange headspace the plant and Crowley had left him in. So he shook his head and leaned against him.

After a while he managed to find some semblance of a sentence and looked up at Crowley, who was sleepily rubbing Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“You. Weren’t effected by the pollen?”

Crowley managed to rise an eyebrow at him and shrugged. “Can’t smell much. All plugged up,” he said, only augmented by the sound of his voice and he laughed before he coughed into his elbow. Aziraphale rubbed his chest before he rested back against it again.

“We’ll get you some soup,” he said but closed his eyes instead and lay there. It was a funny little trick to get Crowley to come over, but Crowley did always end up playing himself the worst in the end. He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head and they both decided they just didn’t mind that very much indeed.


End file.
